The Echani Way
by Ephemerale
Summary: The Echani say you can learn more about a person in a moment of combat than in hours of conversation. As Atton and the exile spar, he draws upon his echani training to observe her heart. Third in the LSFexile/Atton Moments series.


The Echani say that in a brief moment of combat, you learn more about a person than you could in hours of conversation. Given the fact that Atton had spent a year of intense Echani training, he had learned how to read his opponents; had come to understand how the simple, subtle things like the force behind a punch or the slightest twist of the foot could provide a wealth of information on a person's struggles, their strengths. Traditionally, the Echani people fought one another naked; there was no room for shame in combat, and being able to see a being's entire form made it that much easier to determine who they truly were.

The exile, of course, had refused to fight him in the traditional manner. Granted, this was a good thing. He doubted that all even his extensive training would be able to keep him from being driven to distraction by an image such as that. But she had asked that he train her, clothed, so here they were, circling one another in the cargo bay, feeling one another out. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

She was the one to initiate. She threw a punch at his jaw, a fluid, graceful movement with surprising force, that he easily deflected. She moved easily, her grace belying her strength- much like how her passion for life was often masked by her outward serene appearance. The fact that she threw the first punch said that she was confrontational, that she didn't shy away from a challenge.

He lunged forwards and with a quick movement she ducked, rolled on the ground to avoid the jab, and sprung back into a fighting stance a heartbeat later. She was quick, intelligent, could easily adapt to any situation. She smirked at him a little, pleased with her maneuver, careless of the sweaty lock of hair that had escaped its tie and was falling in her eyes. She was not distracted by the little things that may have bothered others.

A quick twist and she was on the offensive again, her hands a flurry of movement as she punched and jabbed. She landed a few, but he blocked the rest. Where she had raw talent, he had years of practice. Despite the fact that few of her punches made their mark, she continued, quickly stepping around him, jabbing at his kidney. She was tenacious.

With a quick flick of his hand he caught her wrist and tugged her close in front of him, holding her arms with one hand and wrapping his free arm around her neck. A shift of the hips, a jab of the elbow to his ribcage, and she was free. She launched an attack again, moving to kick him in his side but he caught her leg with ease. He unbalanced her enough to toss her to the floor, but she sprung back up as quickly as a cat, moving close enough to try to elbow him in the face. He ducked, she missed. The woman was continually on the offensive- she was headstrong, passionate.

She moved to lunge at him again and he dropped to the floor, kicking out his legs to catch her off balance. This time when she fell to the floor, he pinned her down before she could pop back up. With the ease of a seasoned warrior, he grasped her wrists and pinned her arms above her head with one hand while he placed his elbow against her jugular with the other. She glared up at him, eyes hard, nostrils flared. Even in defeat she was indomitable.

Suddenly, her eyes softened, and a smile curved on her lips. "Atton," she breathed, and when she moved to sit up, he removed he warily his elbow from her throat, but kept her wrists pinned to the ground. She pressed her lips to his, gently, hesitantly, quickly making him forget the training session that was supposed to be taking place. She wriggled under him so that she could wrap her legs around his hips, and when she tugged her wrists free of his hands, he let her, absorbed in the kiss.

An instant later, she was straddling him, his hands pinned to the ground above him, her elbow at his throat, a mirror of their previous position. "I think I win," she said with a smirk. The woman knew how to read her opponents, how to turn their desires against them. When outmatched, she wasn't above fighting dirty. Atton grinned. He liked that in a woman. "Up for a round two?" she asked, and Atton chuckled.

"That depends. You willing to fight naked this time?" he replied, and with a light laugh and a shake of her head, she rolled off of him and onto her feet, offering him a hand up. He moved to take it, but pulled her back down to the ground instead, forcing her onto her stomach, straddling her back, and holding her arm at an unnatural angle so that it would break if she moved.

"That's cheating!" she exclaimed from her position on the floor, and Atton laughed as he leaned down to whisper into her ear.

"All's fair…" he murmured, referencing the age old saying of 'All is fair in love and war.' She sighed, and he let her arm go, stepping off of her and sliding back into a fighting stance again. She brushed herself off and met his gaze with a brow cocked in challenge as she slipped into a stance of her own.

They danced around one another again, and Atton knew what their match would reveal to someone with an eye as trained as his. The sexual tension between them was evident in every jab, every kick, every movement of their bodies. Their eyes did not bear the heat of battle when they met, but rather a different sort of heat all together. It was a competition more than a fight, their bodies revolving around each other, orbiting one another, proclaiming their attraction.

The dynamics of their non-existent relationship were easily observable as well by the way they moved. He was rarely on the offensive, but nevertheless his words, his movements, provoked her to action. Action he was easily able to manipulate and deflect. The strength behind his attacks referenced his attachment to her; they were restrained, the blows hitting her softer than would hit anyone else. They spoke of his desire to keep her from harm.

The way she landed her blows said a great deal about how she felt towards him as well, although he doubted she realized it. She did not temper the force behind her punches- something that told him she respected his strength- but her eyes betrayed her. Every time her body made contact with his, her eyes would quickly search his face for any signs of pain before she would continue with the fight. There was only a millisecond of hesitation, but his trained eye noticed, and it warmed his heart.

This time he managed to trap her against the wall, her cheek and belly pressed to the cold steel, his hand around her throat while the other twisted her arm behind her. "Surrender?" he asked, stepping closer so that his lips were brushing against her ear, and he felt her shudder at the contact.

"Give me enough time to learn the techniques, and I'll have you pinned to the floor," she muttered, and Atton grinned, reaching down to press a kiss to the bare flesh of her neck, his grin widening at the way her muscles twitched in response. A master of words he was not, but he understood every nuance of body language. He knew what that sudden jerk of her muscles meant.

"Sweets, you can pin me to the floor whenever the mood strikes you," he replied, moving his hand away from her throat to run down the length of her side. "Or to the wall. Or a chair. Or a bunk…" he added, and then grimaced and released his grip on her arm when she stomped down on his instep and whirled away from him.

"Round three?" she replied with a satisfied grin when he scowled at her, and Atton couldn't help but return the smile. She certainly had stamina. Now that was something that might come in handy later, if she ever gave him half a chance.

He let her launch the offensive again, using the momentum of her body against her, expending as little energy as possible by merely ducking and deflecting her blows, throwing punches and kicks of his own only when the shots were wide open. Much like his take on life. It had caused some to accuse him of being lazy over the years; he was anything but. Rather, he was continually alert, always watching out for the opportune moment.

He found one again when Allia widened her stance slightly too far, and easily forced her to lose her footing by swiping her legs out from under her. She fell to the floor with a thud, and Atton was on top of her again, this time pinning her body down in a spread eagled position. She arched her back and wiggled in an attempt to free herself, but Atton was stronger and held her fast.

"Give?" he asked, and she grunted a little in indignation, doubling her attempts to free herself. The way she was wiggling made his mouth go dry, and a part of his body that had little to do with the ways of the Echani began to react. "Give?" he demanded again, his voice hoarser this time.

Mercifully, she stopped wiggling and let out a deep breath. "Give," she muttered, and when Atton began to move off of her, she added, "…for now," under her breath. Atton chuckled lightly in response, and offered her a hand up. He saw the speculative gleam in her eye, realized she was contemplating pulling him back down to the floor. Quickly, he withdrew his proffered hand.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, tossing her a grin.

She exhaled, wiped the sweat off her brow, and smiled back at him. "Of course," she replied, genuine warmth in her voice. She did not cling to resentment, accepted loss as a temporary setback and saw it as a learning experience rather than a defeat. "Are you ready for your training?" she asked, and Atton shrugged his shoulders.

"Blondie going to be there again?" he replied, and caught the slight quirk of her lip that she quickly suppressed.

"He needs to practice his meditation just as much as you do," she replied, her voice stern. However, he could sense the undercurrent of amusement that she was attempting to hide. Maybe he didn't need to worry about the kid's ability to steal her away, after all.

"Fine," he replied, and was rewarded by a full, bright smile, the sort of smile that always managed to take his breath away. Not that he'd ever let her know that. He'd had the Echani training, after all, knew how to mask his body language, knew how to project whatever image he desired.

And so he exuded carelessness, which he knew infuriated Allia to no end, but it had the benefit of breaking the kid's concentration, so it was worth it. He masked his jealousy with indifference when he saw Allia's hands and gaze linger a little too long on Mical's face. She was taken in by his charade; Mical, however, gave him a knowing little look whenever Allia got close to the simpering idiot.

As he sat through the long, tedious meditation session, he watched her. Watched the little, seemingly insignificant movements that betrayed her thoughts and feelings, watched the movements that revealed her mind and heart. He looked forward to their next training session, the release of his energy and passion, one of the few times he ever truly had her to himself. And hey, who knew? Maybe she'd be willing to fight the traditional way one day soon.


End file.
